


ciryc bal solus

by gracedbybattle



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Legends: Republic Commando Series - Karen Traviss
Genre: Angst, Clone Brothers, Gaftikar, Gen, Huddling For Warmth, Hurt/Comfort, Mandalorian Culture, Post-Mission, no beta we die like men
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-25
Updated: 2020-09-25
Packaged: 2021-03-08 03:20:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,632
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26648920
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gracedbybattle/pseuds/gracedbybattle
Summary: The medbay always seems colder when his brothers are hurt. Darman and Niner, post Gaftikar.
Relationships: Darman Skirata & Niner Skirata
Kudos: 17





	ciryc bal solus

**Author's Note:**

> ciryc [mando’a]: _cold_  
>  solus [mando’a]: _alone, vulnerable_ ; also _united, as one_

The aftermath of an operation is usually quiet, the silent, heady relief that accompanies the draining adrenaline leaves everyone a little too breathless to celebrate. Nat-borns seem to think that soldiers celebrate after a victory, but it’s far from the truth. There’s not much time or need to relish a victory. 

Each operation, every covert mission, is a puddle next to a mountain. No matter how many droid factories they demolish or intelligence they de-code, the war rages on. Brothers still die, and shines still ship out to the front lines. It doesn't stop. It doesn’t feel right to celebrate, in the light of that. 

But the silence after an op gone wrong is entirely different. The air has an entirely different feel, a frozen chill around them and Darman can’t stop shivering. His black body suit is insulated so he shouldn’t be cold, in theory. But that does nothing to abate the chill or the sickening feeling in his stomach. 

Niner is pressed against him on the bench, leaning into him to provide some form of comfort. He’s still halfway armored, chest and shoulders plates discarded to help Atin limp into the room earlier, but he still has his boots and leg braces on. His face is set like a stone, hard lines etched into his forehead and eyes staring straight ahead. Niner can be hard to read, but Darman, who has fought, worked and lived with him for so long knows him. The clenched line of his jaw is a dead giveaway. 

He’s twisted with worry. 

Darman is too, and not as good at masking it. His mind is mainly on Fi, concussed, comatose and drifting in bacta on the other side of the ship. He can’t get the image out of his mind, the explosion, digging him out the rubble, the relief he felt when Fi’d struggled to his feet alive, and the staggering terror he’d felt when his brother had doubled over and retched in the rubble. 

Fi’s brain is bleeding, intracranial pressure rising rapidly and if the meds can’t get it to stop then he’s as good as dead. Darman is a soldier, bred to withstand the stress of war, but he can’t stop running it through his head. 

Fi, his voice still cheerful even when the rest of them feel like hell. Bopping his head along to whatever music he’s listening to inside his helmet before a drop. Darman swallows hard, the memory of how his brother’s dark, bright eyes were blank and unfocused on the hovercart, is a stone setting heavy in his chest. He can’t stop seeing the way Fi’s pupil’s had been dilated differently right before they rolled into the back of his head and he slipped under. 

A chill races up his spine, quick and razor sharp and he can’t contain a full body flinch. _Fierferk_ , he’s freezing. 

“Cold, Dar?” Niner asks without looking, eyes still straight ahead. He’s watching the door in front of them where they left Atin, sharp like a hawk. The med droid said that the bone knitter should have his broken ankle repaired in under an hour, and they’re both loath to leave without him. They can’t sit with Fi now, so they’ll wait for Atin. 

Nat-borns never seem to understand how the troopers, commandos in particular, communicate easily without words. There wasn’t a conscious thought on what to do while they waited, Darman settled next to Niner on this lone bench in the hallway almost on autopilot. 

They don’t need words, because they’ve lived out of each other's pockets long enough to know the other’s moves, their thoughts before they make them. It’s what makes them such a good field team. There’s no use in lying to Niner. He already knows and likely feels the same as Darman does, though he hasn’t shook once. 

“Yes,” Darman admits and goes to push away. Pressed up against one another like they are, he’s probably making his brother uncomfortable with his shakes. 

Before he can ease a safe distance away, Niner reaches out and grabs his wrist. Darman stops with a small frown, staring at their Sergeant. He can see the raised skin at his wrist as physical proof of the chill he feels, but Niner barely seems to notice. He stills his movement with one hand. 

“It’s okay,” Niner says and when he turns to look at Darman, he feels gut punched. Niner’s gaze is unusually shiny, bright and full of unshed tears. The sight is so foreign that Darman feels instantly hollow. He has never seen Niner so low, like the entire world is falling out from under their feet. 

They’ve all lost their brothers before. Darman never forgets Taler, Vin and Jay, no matter how many days they put between them and Geonosis. He knows Fi, Niner and Atin are the same, that they whisper their batchmatches names to themselves at night. It’s what made the bond between the four of them, between Omega squad, that much stronger. They all know what it’s like to lose their brothers, and it’s a pain they can’t relive. 

Secretly, Darman thinks it makes them a tighter unit than other squads. Delta thinks it makes them inferior, Sev as much said so to Atin’s face and Boss did the same to Niner, but Delta has never lost a brother, never felt that void that comes when you’re left alone in this world after living with someone else for so long. Omega does, and it makes them hell-bent to defend each other. They have no delusions of invincibility and it drives them to protect one another that much more. 

At least, that’s how Darman sees it. He wonders, distantly, what Niner thinks. 

Niner lets go of his wrist, only to bring an arm around Darman’s shoulders. Even without the armor, it’s still not an easy reach, they’re all broad shouldered. He tugs once to bring Darman to his side and he goes without a second thought, leaning against his squadmate’s side. Niner doesn’t speak, there’s no shaking breath or muffled sob to betray his feelings. But Darman saw his eyes, he knows they’re feeling the same. 

And Darman feels like there’s a hole cut out of his heart, where his brothers should be. He’s sitting here, with Niner, but mentally he’s still with Fi on that evac. Sitting beside him to keep him upright while Atin tried to keep him talking, keep him awake. The emotion bubbles in his chest and he swallows back a sob. Bites into his lip and sucks the blood away to keep from crying out. 

He wants to go back to this morning, when he and Fi teased Atin over their tasteless rations and Marit stew while Niner just cocked an eyebrow at them, silently amused. Just hours ago, he didn’t know this new world without Fi’s cheerful humor and dry wit. He didn’t know what Fi looked like, blank eyed and unfocused. He didn’t know the look on Niner’s face holding back tears.

Niner wraps an arm around him, though he hasn’t made a sound, and squeezes Darman to him. Like he’s afraid something will happen to him too. Niner tugs him against him firmly and Darman relents, leaning his head against his shoulder. They could be here for a while still and his brother is line of heat against him, warm and solid.

He wonders how Niner can be so warm when he’s so cold. 

“It’ll be okay, Dar,” Niner says, voice still so steady. He sounds so sure. “They’ll get Atin patched up.” He takes a deep breath, steels his voice. “Fi will be okay.”

“What if they’re not?” Darman says before he can stop himself. “Sarge, what if he’s not?” He feels rather than hears Niner’s sharp intake of breath. Waits for a shuddering exhale to break but it never comes. Even when the rest of them are falling apart, Niner is strong. 

“We’ll call _Kal’buir_ ,” Niner tells him. He sounds resolute, like there’s nothing Kal Skirata can’t fix. He sighs. “We’re going to have to tell him. We’re going to have to tell all of them.” 

Wrung out, Darman rests his head against Niner’s shoulder, falling back into old training tactics to regulate his breathing into something more regular and feels his racing heart calm. It does nothing for the hole in his heart, the void at his side where his brothers should be. 

He thinks of Etain, of Jusik, Ordo, Mereel and Kal. Wonders how they’re going to tell them, how they’ll take the news. Everyone is fond of Fi. It’s impossible not to be. 

_Kal’buir_ will be devastated if Fi doesn't make it. And Ordo...well, Darman doesn’t know what Ordo will do. The Null ARC is incredibly fond, protective even, of Fi. He doesn’t want to imagine how Ordo will take the news. 

He starts suddenly as he feels something hit his suit, something wet, and wonders for a moment if there’s a busted pipe above them. Darman looks up and swallows back, hard. There are tears streaming down Niner’s face, silently. He doesn’t make a sound or look away from the door, even as he brings a hand up to card through Darman’s hair, so much like Skirata. His fingers are gentle, steady even as the evidence of his emotion runs down his cheek.

Darman stifles a hard breath and doesn’t speak, if only to give Niner the appearance of privacy, even in this public place. He blinks his eyes shut, letting the soft motion of careful fingers running through his curls lull him into a false sense of security, imaging a world where the four of them are all together with their _aliit_ , happy and safe, free from this war. A far off dream, he knows. 

**Author's Note:**

> Darman and Niner's relationship is IMPORTANT to me, okay


End file.
